The Faltering Flutter of Broken Wings
by Jameson Rook
Summary: There have only been three times that Dean has seen Castiel's wings. They've all been monumental, and they've all been life-altering.


_** Disclaimer: Supernatural and all of its characters belong to Erik Kripke and the CW Network.**_

___2013_

The first time that Dean saw Cas' wings, it was completely by surprise. He had been pouring over ninety-nine cent hamburgers in some shitty hotel in Illinois while Sam was at the library researching when the angel had appeared in their room, tumbling across the floor in a flurry of blood and dust. The wings were massive and had to curl in tightly to his back to avoid knocking against the door of the hotel room.

"Cas?" Dean had gasped breathlessly, scrambling off the bed and dropping to his knees on the horrifically patterned carpet. "Cas? Buddy? What the hell happened to you?"

"I went t-to Heaven. Naomi called me." He ground on, his head hanging low as he struggled to his hands and knees. His chest rattled with a deep, rumbling cough, blood staining his teeth. "Ambush."

"Naomi? Who the hell is that?" Dean questioned, his hand falling on Cas' shoulder.

"She's...she's been controlling all of the angels, Dean. She's the reason that I killed Samandriel. " His pained blue eues lifted to meet Dean's, his face twisted in pain. "She wanted me to kill _you_, Dean. But I refused, so she tried to kill me." His wings fluttered wildly on his back, feathers and blood dropping to the carpet.

"Your wings, Cas." Dean whipsered, reaching out and freezing halfway to the massive, black wings. They were larger then Dean had ever anticipated, and midnight black, contrasting wildly to his ivory skin. Deep gashes in the tips of them were slowly oozing dark blood. "Can I?" He questioned, ducking his head to look at Cas, who nodded in response. Dean reached forward and touched the soft, downy feathers. He pushed them aside to look at the slices in Cas' skin. The tips of his wings were charred and burnt, but the burns didn't look nearly as new as the cuts.

"They'll heal." Cas' gruff voice broke his gaze from staring at the wings for the rest of his life. "They're already starting to heal. Dean." He reached out and hooked his index finger under Dean's chin, forcing him to look up. "It's okay. I promise."

"They're cut and burnt, Cas. What did she do to you?" Dean whispered, helping Cas up onto his bed and sitting a safe distance away. Cas scowled at the distance between them, and Dean felt a tattered wing wrap around his back, pulling him closer. He gasped quietly when he felt his side being pressed from shoulder to thigh against Cas'.

"The cuts are from Naomi, Dean. She used an angel blade, we struggled, she tried to cut my wings off." He stated as casually if he were talking about the weather. "The burns are from..." Cas trailed off and Dean quirked an eyebrow curiously. It took him a moment to register what Cas meant.

"These are from when you pulled me out of the pit." Dean muttered, running his fingers through the feathers carefully. "I'm so sorry, Cas." His voice was low, his breath warm as it puffed over Cas' chin. The angel was silent, his eyes wide, and his breathing stuttered as Dean leaned closer.

He brushed his nose over Cas', his hand sliding up to cup the other man's jaw and brushed his thumb over his cheekbone softly. He closed the distance between them until there was less then a millimeter between their lips.

"It's okay," Their lips brushed as he spoke, sending little electric shocks scorching through his body. "It's okay, Cas. You're safe." He wrapped his arms tightly around Cas' waist and pulled him closer. "I've got you."

"I don't want to kill you, Dean. I _can't_ kill you, but I'm...I'm afraid that she's going to force me to, and I can't live with myself after that."

"We'll figure this whole thing out. We won't let her keep messing with your head, Cas, I promise." Cas' fingers clutched at Dean's shoulders through the thin material of his shirt like Dean was the last thing tethering him to the Earth. "We'll go to Bobby's, throw up some angel-proofing, and lay low until this whole thing blows over, okay?"

"Dean, if...if she gets to me, and gives me orders to kill you, I need you to promise me something. Promise that you'll kill me before I get a chance to hurt you. Or Sam. I was put on this Earth to protect you, I was there every time that your mother told you that angels were watching over you. Every. Time. I cannot allow myself to be what ends you."

"I don't know if I can do that, Cas." Dean shook his head against Cas', their noses brushing gently. "I can't live without you, Cas. I _can't_."

"I know, Dean." Cas whispered in response, a stroke of courage allowing him to lace his fingers through Dean's short hair. When their lips collided and Cas' tongue trailed over his lower lip, Dean's fingers found their way back to the feathers. Feathers of wings that had been burned while saving him. Wings that he'd been fantasizing about since the first time he'd seen the shadows of them on the walls of a barn.

"I love you, you know?" He whispered when they broke apart.

"I know, Dean." Cas smiled, nodding once. "And I love you. Always."

_Summer 2014_

The second time that Dean sees Cas' wings was in the middle of the Croatoan virus. His mojo was nearly gone at that point, having been torn from him when the other angels left. It was almost like the possessed a magnetic pull, and the when the angels left, his grace was unable to stay. It was almost gone, but there was still enough left to maifest his wings.

The muffled screams from Cas' cabin was what had drawn Dean inside in the first place, his gun drawn and his heart pounding. He had no idea what he was going to find when he walked in that cabin. Croats? Demons? An orgy that had gotten dangerously close to transversing the pain/pleasure line? He was expecting any number of those things, but what he found was the last thing he'd expected.

The leather belt that Dean had given to Cas when he'd finally convinced him to change out of that damned suit was clenched between Cas' teeth, and his arms were stretched over one shoulder so that he could have access to his back. Blood was running down his back and staining the waistband of his jeans a dark, deep red. His wings were shot out to the sides, fully extended and brushing both walls.

"Cas, what the fuck are you doing?" Dean barked, dropping his gun into his thigh holster and running to slide on his knees next to Cas. Cas' hands quivered on the knife that was digging into the muscles at the base of his wings, but he didn't look at Dean. His eyes were hazy and unfocused from the drugs and alcohol that Dean was suddenly overwhelmingly guilty about providing for him.

"I don't want them anymore, Dean." He whispered, his voice gruff with the tears that he'd obviously shed before Dean had arrived. "They're just..." He heaved a shaky sigh. "They're just reminding me of what I don't have anymore."

"What are you talkin' about, Cas? Look, we can still figure this out, man. Maybe your mojo is just...I dunno, maybe it's on vacation or something. I know that sounds stupid, but maybe it'll come back again. If you cut your wings off, how the hell are you supposed to fly?" Cas gave him that breathy, sarcastic laugh that Dean had become all too familiar with.

"Maybe I don't _want_ to fly, Dean! Did you ever think about that? No. You didn't. Because, God forbid Dean Winchester gives half a damn about what someone else wants, as long as it benefits you. Right? Well, the world is different, Dean. _I'm _different. And you know what?" Cas' voice lowered to an octave that Dean hadn't even thought possible, and he leaned forward until his nose brushed over Dean's. "I didn't just lose my grace when all of this shit started. I lost you too, Dean. You haven't even kissed me since Sam said yes to Lucifer. You know that? And you expect to be able to waltz in here and just tell me what I can and can't do with my own wings? Well, I'm sorry, that's not how it works. Fuck off."

Dean stared at him a moment, his mouth hanging open and his mind reeling. Had it really been that long since he'd kissed Cas? If he really thought about it, he supposed that the other man was right. He felt like dirt about it, but he _was_ right. He ran his hand over the back of his neck nervously.

"Cas, I'm...I'm sorry." He replied, his voice shaking.

"You're always sorry. Now, if you're not going to help me, get the fuck out so that I can get this over with." He held the knife up to Dean, who stared at it, his hand hovering in the air in front of it. He sighed heavily, dropping his hand, and turned to walk out of the cabin, leaving Cas to his own devices.

He was halfway back to his cabin when he heard the screams of agony that Cas couldn't muffle around the leather of the belt. He squeezed his eyes shut as soon as he slipped behind the door of his cabin, his forehead falling to the door, and wondered exactly when 'always' had been lost.

_Summer 2015_

The last time that Dean saw Cas' wings was on a run into the city for supplies. Cas had forgone putting on a shirt, insisting that he didn't need to wear any of the ratty t-shirts he'd collected in the sweltering heat to "go on a run to get shitty food from gutted stores". So, Dean was charged with watching Cas' back, which happened to be far too tanned, and scarred, and broken up by the thick black ink of wings tattooed on his shoulder blades.

Dean couldn't help but remember the day that Cas had asked him to tattoo them there. It had been in the dead of winter, after his scars had healed from cutting his own wings off. Dean hadn't known what to do with the wings after Cas had removed them, but Cas had informed him that they needed to be burned. An angels wings would send out a beacon to every demon in a five-hundred mile radious.

So, that night, Dean had dragged them to the edge of the camp, forbidding any of the other campers to follow him, and had doused them in gasoline before dropping a match to the feathers. He watched with detached coldness as the feathers scorched and charred, giving way to muscle, tendon, and bone.

When Cas had settled on the floor, that lop-sided, stoned off his ass grin and extended the tattoo gun with a whispered 'please', Dean couldn't have said no even if he'd wanted to. So, he'd settled onto the floor behind Cas, his legs on either side of Cas' hips, and tugged him closer.

He brushed his lips over the knobs of Cas' spine before bring the needle to his skin. Cas had nearly crawled out of his own skin when the needle had reached the ragged, purple scar tissue where his wings had once been, but Dean had soothed his whimpers with whispered words of comfort and kisses to his shoulders.

Three hours later, he was relatively pleased with the way that the wings had turned out, the thin, black lines curving over Cas' skin. The skin was raised, red, and hot from the assault of the needle, but it wasn't bleeding as much as Dean had anticipated, he'd assumed that the alcohol in Cas' system would've thinned his blood much more.

"Thank you, Dean." He'd whispered, stumbling to his feet, and bringing the whiskey bottle in his hands to his lips, smirking at him seductively. Dean had mumbled a response and wiped his sweaty palms down his jeans, his fingers catching on his thigh holster. When he'd declined Cas' invitation to repay him 'somehow', Cas had just shrugged and turned his back on Dean, waving haphazardly before sorting through the weed and pills on his nightstand, giving Dean a lovely view of those broad, black wings as he backed out the door of the cabin.

But that wasn't the last time that he saw Cas' wings. No, the last day he saw them, Cas was face down on the grimy tiled floor in a gutted gas station with a pool of blood around his body.

It hadn't been croats. Hell, it hadn't even been demons. The thing that had finally put Castiel's soul to rest had been another group of survivors that happened to be ransacking the same store they were. The two-man group had been the shoot-first, question-later kind of people, and had left Cas bleeding out in Dean's arms in the middle of a Quickie-Mart.

Dean had slipped his own shirt over Cas' torso, tired of having to look at the bullet hole that had been torn through Cas' chest, then he'd glanced at where the other two men laid in a pile, his own bullet holes resting between their eyes. No one killed his angel without paying the piper.

He had run his fingers over the tattoo a moment before putting the shirt on him, lifting him into his arms, and bringing him back to camp. They had a ceremony that night. Cas' body laid on the pyre, wrapped in white, cotton sheets and they'd set the pyre alight. The rest of the camp had hovered for a moment before shuffling wordlessly back to their cabins with comforting pats on Dean's back.

Dean hadn't left though. He'd always promised Cas that he wouldn't leave him alone. Dean Winchester kept his promises. And, as he watched that dark smoke curling up against the night sky, with his hands tucked in his pockets and tears streaking through the grime on his face, he felt the warm embrace of feathers holding him close like he had all that time ago in the shitty hotel room.

The last time that Dean Winchester saw Castiel's wings, they were flying his angel to Heaven. They were taking him home. Finally.


End file.
